


Red Earth and Pouring Rain

by lyryk (s_k)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, F/F, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 12:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13146699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_k/pseuds/lyryk
Summary: Happy SPN-J2-Xmas, H, and an extra-special thank you to you for co-running this awesome fest! I went with your prompts about dystopia and bleak curtain-fic. May you have a lovely holiday season and a wonderful year ahead. <3A/N: Title from Vikram Chandra.





	Red Earth and Pouring Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oddishly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddishly/gifts).



> Happy SPN-J2-Xmas, H, and an extra-special thank you to you for co-running this awesome fest! I went with your prompts about dystopia and bleak curtain-fic. May you have a lovely holiday season and a wonderful year ahead. <3
> 
> A/N: Title from Vikram Chandra.

Sam takes a long, warming sip of coffee, scrunching up his socked toes inside his rain-and-mud-splattered boots. He's sitting on the porch steps of their adopted home, a farmhouse complete with chickens, cows, and cats. He likes the alliteration of listing the generic names of the animals, a small comfort in a world with barely any people left in it.

He hears Dean's boots thump on the wooden floor behind him before he feels a hand in his hair, fingers trailing through the strands. Dean's looking out into the neverending horizon, bringing a steaming mug to his lips, blowing on the hot surface before taking a sip.

"Goin' out to find some gas," he says, as though his hand isn't still in Sam's hair. He's been... affectionate, lately, but they never talk about it. "You comin' with?"

"Nah. I wanna try to get the generator going." Sam's proud of how held-together he sounds when Dean's fingers are sparking sense memories that are old but intense, things they'd done together in another reality humming to life under his skin. He looks up at his brother, gold-bright in the morning sun. "You could help." What he means is _Don't go out there alone_ , but saying so would warrant a well-earned scoff from Dean.

"Later," Dean says, untangling his fingers from Sam's hair. He drains the last of his coffee and sets the mug beside Sam on the porch. And then he's driving away, burning up the last of the Impala's reserves, Sam watching him until he can't hear the rumbling of the engine any more.

 

\--

 

It starts raining again around noon, the sun receding behind gray clouds that roll calmly toward the house from the horizon, promising a deluge. One moment it's bright and sunny and the next it's coming down hard, and Sam gets soaked during his twenty-second run from the barn to the house. Inside, he peels off his wet clothes and hangs them to dry next to the fireplace. Unselfconsciously naked, he sinks into the couch and lets the fire warm him. If Dean were there he might've kept his boxers on or looked for a dry pair.

They've been sharing the only usable bed in the house, sometimes waking up squished together, but the only physical affection Dean has shown him lately has been in the form of absent-minded gestures of casual intimacy that leave Sam confused and frustrated, if somewhat happy. _My brother, ladies and gentlemen_ , he thinks to an absent audience. _The king of repressed desire._

Once he's dry, he pulls a blanket over himself and sinks back into his book. Overhead, the storm thunders on.

He doesn't start worrying until he awakens with a start, the book sliding off his chest. The fire's on the verge of dying out, and outside, Dean and the Impala are conspicuous in their absence.

 

\--

 

_Where do old birds go to die?_

Sam was fifteen when he read the question in a book, and the answer instantly came to his mind, as though it were quietly lying in wait inside him, ready to spring free: _Wherever they want. They're old; they've lived full lives._

Full lives like Dad and Dean would never live, the voice went on, heartless.

He hadn't started hunting yet. He imagined a life lived without his family, growing up with strangers, the lost potential of all those hours on the road he'd never have with Dad and Dean if they didn't come back from the hunt they were on.

He almost expected the Impala to be idling next to the sidewalk when he emerged from the library, blinking in the brightness of the sun after the cool interior of the building. He waited for a minute anyway, ears attuned to listening for the sound of a rumbling engine that didn't come. He let himself into the motel room -- no need for a rental, we won't be staying long, Dad had said -- and flung his bookbag onto the bed, where it landed with a disheartening plop. He warmed up the congealing mac and cheese Dean had left in the mini-fridge, forcing it down with ginger ale.

He hadn't let himself focus on his anxiety until the phone rang hours later, Dean's voice on the other end of the line telling him _We're okay, Dad got his arm busted but he's fine, we'll be back soon, okay, Sammy?_

 

\--

 

There's no call this time, no phone on which Dean can reach him. The battery had died weeks ago; Sam had been switching it on every day in hopes of finding a message from Jody or the girls.

The battery had finally given out just before they'd found the farmhouse. Dean had reluctantly agreed to stop, having driven the previous few miles with one eye on the fuel gauge. (Sam knows that there are few things that terrify Dean as much as not being able to drive his car any more.)

The phone's a useless but comforting weight in his pocket as he ventures outside, his flashlight stabbing into the darkness, throwing shadows everywhere. He tries not to think of what he'll do if the flashlight runs out of power. He has a lighter in his pocket, put there through a lifetime of learning to expect to burn things on short notice, but lighters run out of fuel too. He fights down a bark of nervous laughter at the thought of everything running out of power, phones and cars and computers and remote controls all dead, forcing everyone who's survived to return to atavistic instincts.

"Dean!" The night throws the word back at him as he makes his way across the land that he's begun to think of as home, echoes crowding around him as he shouts for his brother.

He doesn't see the hole in the ground until he's falling into it. _It's the well_ , he remembers in the middle of the blind panic of falling through rushing darkness. _It's the well that's dry, that Dean was so pissed at because we needed water._ And then, just before the sudden sharp pain that slices into his neck: _Dean's going to be so much more pissed off about this._

 

\--

 

He wakes to the sound of voices arguing.

Surprisingly pain-free, he sits up easily and rubs the back of his neck. Odd, he'd been so sure he --

His gaze lands on his own twisted body, neck bent at an odd angle.

_Oh._

"Hey, there you are," a familiar voice says. He has time to register the presence of a glowing white light everywhere, illuminating what must be the bottom of the well, before someone -- a very familiar someone -- throws herself at him.

"Charlie?" Sam's arms go up around her, and she feels just as small and alive against him as she'd done the first time they'd hugged. "Oh god, Charlie."

"Sam," she beams, pulling back. Her hair's just as short as it had been when she'd -- the last time he'd seen her, but the outfit is new, black and stretchy.

"What're you -- " He breaks off as he catches sight of the figure behind her. "Billie?"

"Yeah, we've kinda been seeing each other," Charlie says, deadpan.

"You're dating _Death_?"

Charlie shrugs. "She asked. I said yes. Gotta take what you can get in the afterlife, yeah?"

"I'm standing right here," Billie points out. "And by the way, kids? Time and place."

"Hey, we have catching up to do." Turning back to Sam, Charlie says, "Don't mind her. She gets cranky with all the bureaucratic crap they make her do."

"Again, right here."

"I'm dead, aren't I?" Sam cuts in. He looks at Charlie. "Are you here to reap me? You're a _reaper_?"

"Of course I'm not here to -- "

"Yes, she's a reaper," Billie interrupts. "And no, she's not here to reap you."

"I just wanted to say hi," Charlie says, squeezing his hand.

 

\--

 

They talk a while, Charlie sitting close to Sam with her arms wrapped around her knees and Sam trying not to look at his body lying a few feet away, Billie remaining on her feet and intermittently muttering about places to go and people to reap, Charlie shushing her affectionately whenever she tries to interrupt.

"We really have to go," Billie says finally, loudly. "You ready to go back to the world of the living?"

Sam looks up at her. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"No deals? No threats to throw me into the Empty?"

Billie sighs. "Like I told your brother the last time we met, you have work to do."

"What work? In case you haven't noticed, the world kind of ended a while ago."

"Humans. So dramatic."

"Wait. Dean -- is he okay? He isn't -- you know, like me?"

"He's not dead."

"But is he okay?"

"Look, kid -- "

"He's fine, Sam." Charlie gives Billie a look that clearly means _Back off, I've got this_ , and Billie, to Sam's astonishment, throws up her arms and goes quiet.

 

\--

 

The Impala is parked in front of the house, shiny with rain, when Sam gets back. Sam trudges into the house, waterlogged and dripping all over the floor.

"Where the hell were you?" Dean says before he notices the state Sam's in, and then, right on cue, the concern on his face switches to fear. "Fuck, Sammy. What happened to you?" He's on Sam in a second, pulling leaves and mud from his hair, patting him down everywhere as if looking for wounds to tend to.

"I'm okay, Dean." Sam grabs at Dean's hands and stills him, leans into him for a quick, tight hug. _You'll never guess what happened_ , he's going to say, but Dean's mouth is on his, and he tastes of worry and love and home, and Sam decides that everything else can wait.

 

\--

 

Sam starts off his morning in much the same way as he'd done the last one: watching the sunrise from the porch. It's raining today, big thick drops of noisy water that make the mud, red and slushy, splatter everywhere. He's safe on the porch, coffee mug in hand.

It took a near-death -- okay, an actual death -- experience for Dean to touch him again in the way that Sam's been craving for ages. Weirdly, Sam thinks, some of their deaths, and near-deaths, have been good for them, bringing them to places they may not have gone otherwise. Like the time he was fifteen and Dean had come back safe and Sam had found the courage to kiss him the moment Dad was out of sight. (He'd expected a punch in the face at best, but Dean hadn't pushed him away.)

Dean wanders out onto the porch, mug in hand and a paper-wrapped package under his arm. He sits down beside Sam, nudging his shoulder, and hands over the package without a word.

Sam raises his eyebrows, undoing the string tied around the packet and sliding off the plain brown paper. Inside it is a worn, cloth-bound copy of _The Lord of the Rings_ , the Tree of Life engraved in silver on the cover.

"Merry Christmas, Sammy."

"Dean, where did you -- ?"

"'S'why it took me so long to get back. Found the gas in a half hour. Took me ten hours to track this down."

"But how did you even -- "

"I have my ways," Dean says, smug. Then, as though he's remembering what happened when he was away, his face softens. "There are others out there. A town. Survivors. Things to do. People to help. We can... we can turn this place into a base, you know?"

"Yeah," Sam says. "Yeah, that'd be good."

"Just don't fall into any wells again."

"Don't leave for so long again," Sam says right back.

"Deal," Dean says.

They clink their mugs together, the sound sharp and tinny against the pouring rain. Dean turns to press a kiss into Sam's hair, holds his mouth there for a long moment, and apocalypse or not, there's nowhere else Sam would rather be.


End file.
